


Between Arizona, an Angel and a Winchester

by littlehuntress



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas looks great as a Cowboy, Cowboys, Dean Has a Cowboy Kink, Dean/Cas Exchange, It's a fit, M/M, Old West, PWP, Sam Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5685559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehuntress/pseuds/littlehuntress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bringing Castiel along to an old west con, might not be the best idea, but Dean never thought Cas would look as good as he does dressed as a cowboy.  Leading them both to a different kind of weekend than the one planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Arizona, an Angel and a Winchester

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dogsled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/gifts).



> Hi, I was excited when I received your prompts, especially the one about Dean and his obvious love for westerns and Cowboys, and me being a lover of the Wild West I set out to write down the ideas I had for your prompt, but then it turned into the story it is now, hopefully there will be something you can enjoy in this fic. And Happy 2016 to you!
> 
> Title comes from the western _Between God, the Devil and a Winchester_ (because I'm lame like that ).

  
  


::: ::: :::

It's a rare sight to see Dean smiling, a real actual smile, not one of those he puts on as a front, the ones that say he'll keep on fighting until the end even if it kills him. Even if a part of him is lost on the way. It's not even a grin laced with whiskey, smelling of oblivion and denial. This one is completely genuine. There's even an air of cheerfulness unusual in the bunker. Dean is in high-spirits. 

Sam's leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he watches amusedly how Dean tries to find the perfect angle for his hat. He lowers it a bit on the front, turning around and grinning, fingers sliding over the curved edges. He does a spin, then pretends to shoot his pistol, blowing on his fingers after shooting at the imaginary _bad guys_ in his room. 

"What do you think?" he asks. Sam shrugs not knowing exactly what his response should be, this is a bit bizarre, although Dean's mood is on the bright side of things.

"Finally ready, Billy the Kid?" 

Dean scoffs, outstretching his arms in show. "Look at me, I'm mysterious and strange. Call me Man with No Name from now on." 

Sam takes in his brother's brown cowboy hat, the long coat, the denim shirt with long sleeves, leather belt and jeans, finished with the boots matching his hat with spurs and everything. He really went the whole nine yards with his costume. Sam clears his throat, one hand combing through his hair before he resumes his previous position. 

"So, are you sure you're definitely going to this western thing?" Sam asks, an edge to his voice. 

"Dude, this a legitimate western con." Excitement can be heard through Dean's words. 

"But, you're still—" Sam doesn't end his sentence, his jaw clenching tight, everything is a murky mess and there might be hope within him, wishing they won't drown with the messy waves around them, but it doesn't mean he's not with his guard up. He's always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Dean sighs, his smile slipping. "Look, Sam, I promise I'll be okay. I need a break from everything," he says, each word getting lower, he rubs his eyes, and in that moment Sam can see a tired man before him, a hollowness in his eyes he wishes weren't there. He wants to see him smile again. 

"Okay, I'll believe you. Just promise you'll be out of trouble." 

"Come on, what trouble? I've got my six-shooter, nothing and no one will stop me," Dean says, patting the holster against his side. "Plus, I've got an angel watching my back, not bad, huh?"

Sam takes a deep breath, maybe Charlie's idea of dragging Dean out to Arizona isn't so bad after all. Maybe he'll come back without the heaviness in his steps. "Just, call when you get there." 

"No can do, Sammy. All kinds of technology are forbidden inside the con." 

"You can always call from the hotel, Dean. And wait, why can't you bring a cell into the con?" Sam questions. Eyebrows raised. 

"Authenticity, Sammy. These people aim for authenticity, nothing but the real sights, sounds and smells of the old west," Dean explains like it's the most wonderful thing he can imagine. His lips curving into a smile once more. 

"Ha, good luck with the cow excrement and the dysentery then," Sam says, grinning wildly as Dean throws one of his pillows at him before he can run far away.  
  


::: ::: :::

  
  
Turns out Sam wasn't too mistaken about the _crap_ , but that's not going to dampen his stay in the convention or to stop Dean from enjoying this moment away from the hunt, from the monsters and killers. Or at least away from real killers, in there, in the fake old west everyone has a role. He already has a metal golden star placed proudly against his chest with the word sheriff on it.

When he was over there earlier while checking in his eyes met the sighs of horses and cows, there was that authentic feel he was expecting. He had been given what was promised on the site, guns, outlaws, saloons, even a replica of Buffalo Bill's Wild West show—of course it's a mere tent and a few benches, but still it's great—showcasing the sharpshooters Annie Oakley and Frank Butler. 

Charlie is already running around the convention, her costume just as devoted as Dean's. She's going by the name of One-Eyed Charley now. If only Castiel would hurry the fuck up, they could leave the hotel room and start enjoying some of it. 

"Come on, man. We don't have the entire day," Dean calls, pressing his ear against the bathroom door to confirm Castiel is still in there. It wouldn't be there first time he disappears into thin air. 

"I thought this was supposed to be a weekend gathering," Castiel says, voice muffled by the wooden door. 

"It is." 

"Then why are you pressuring me?" 

Dean is about to retort when there's a weird sound coming from inside, something that sounds suspiciously like a muffled whine. 

He raps on the door, pressing this time his entire body against the door. "Hey, Cas, you okay in there?" 

"Yes, Dean. I am okay," Castiel answers. He sounds anything but okay to Dean's ears. His eyebrows knit together, and as he's about the do something, possibly damaging the property, Cas comes out of the bathroom, head lowered and movements slow. 

"I still don't understand why we're doing this," he says sounding beyond confused. 

"Well, I needed an angel on my shoulder if I'm taking on the west by storm," Dean jokes, patting Castiel on the back. 

"We're what?" 

"It's only a convention, nothing real," Dean clarifies. It's possible it wasn't the best of ideas to bring Cas, but he does need his angel, for safety purposes of course according to Sam.

"If we must," Castiel responds, finally lifting his head. 

Dean feels like he's been blindsided, because Cas, he looks, well, adorable for a lack of a better word with the strings of his hat pulled under his face. His mouth hangs agape as his eyes travel from Castiel's eyes, to his chest covered by a tartan shirt and black, long sleeves framing his shoulders and arms, the boots going mid-calf, and the jeans, fuck it, the jeans leave little to Dean's imagination. They hug his hips and ass perfectly, like it was meant to be that Cas should wear a cowboy outfit. Truly serendipitous.

Dean realizes Cas has been staring at him, wondering look plastered across his face. He coughs, loudly. Rubs the back of his head, looking for something to say. 

The silence is stifling, he swears he can hear water drops falling from the bathroom's faucet. He's no longer sure how to proceed, if he should pull Cas out of the room, or press him against the wall. 

"Anything in your mind, Dean?" Castiel crosses his arms, and Dean focuses in the way his arms flex. He definitely needs to say something now.

"Cas, you look," Dean begins, gulping between words, causing Cas to narrow his eyes, "Great. You look great." 

"Thank you," Cas says, but his words sound more like a question than anything else. 

"So, let's head out, man." He thinks his voice wavers a little on each word, but there's a sensible reason for that. He's terribly excited for the West. That's all. As he walks towards the room's door he can feel his jeans a bit tighter, his mind riddled by images of Cas dressed up as a cowboy, Cas with his shirt off, Cas with nothing but the hat, Cas beneath him completely undone. He shakes his head, hoping the images will fade but they cling stubbornly to his eyelids. 

"Dean?" 

He comes back to reality when he hears his name, noticing he's failed to open the door and actually leave the room. Hand still on the doorknob. 

"Yeah, yeah, let's go." He stops, closes his eyes and counts to ten. 

"Are we actually leaving?" 

Dean lets out a long breath, his forehead pressing against the cold door. 

"Is everything fine?" Cas sounds worried, one hand reaching to settle on his shoulder. Dean turns around at the touch, taking a second to think it through and pulls Cas towards him by his belt, and before he can get another word out or say his name again with that particular tone he uses only for him, Dean is on him, kissing him like it's the last thing he's ever going to do. Cas slowly relaxes against him, following his movements and opening his mouth when Dean's tongue darts out, he wraps his arms around Cas, his presence taking over him. Dean savours the kiss, keeping Cas as close as he can and he can't believe the restraint he's shown. They've could've been kissing since they arrived, hell, they could've done it once they climbed into the impala.

This time there's no one around to interrupt them, to walk in on them, and the prospect of complete freedom to do whatever they want, whenever they want thrills Dean beyond words.

 _"Oh."_ Cas sounds breathless, lips red and swollen and Dean thinks he's done a pretty good job. 

"Yeah, oh," Dean mutters, their foreheads pressing together once they've broken apart. 

Cas stares right into his eyes, too blue, too open, so familiar. He's kissed him before, those eyes following his movements while Dean pulled him closer, seeking the comfort of his warmth. Lips meeting halfway in dark corners, in the midst of broken bones and tending to wounds. Soft kisses against damaged skin in the quiet of Dean's room, rough and desperate when the end seemed closer than ever and Dean wanted to hide forever in their embrace. Long nights spent in the impala mouth traveling over heated skin, their bodies fussing together until the nightmares were kept at bay. But this kiss, this want itching at his skin is something more primitive. 

Dean takes another long look at Cas, he just wants to rip the cowboy outfit off of his body and at the same time wants to keep looking at Cas dressed like that for a bit longer.

"Dean." Cas is slowly catching up with him, and he's waiting, expecting, and that is enough to get Dean back into motion.

He nods and backs Cas slowly guiding him towards the bed closest to them, his fingers popping open the shirt's buttons on the way, stealing kisses because he can, he so fucking can. 

Cas' feet hit the edge of the bed, and Dean steps away just enough to inspect his handiwork, Cas' chest is exposed, breathing heavily, skin growing warmer. Dean can't resist, and places kisses over his ribs, mouth dragging all over his skin. Cas breath is loud, small noises coming out of his mouth. If he was hard before, now it's an understatement. 

"Dean," Cas warns, placing one hand over his cheek. 

Dean through his haze listens to him, and placing one last kiss, he stops. Maybe it's a good idea to breathe. He wants to take his time, push Cas over the edge and then do it all over again.

Cas tries to take his boots off in the meantime, appearing much calmer than Dean and Dean does the same but incredibly fast. Cas stops, looks at him in wonderment and almost trips on his own feet while taking off the right one. Dean chuckles. 

Cas doesn't look a bit amused. "It's not funny, Dean." 

"No, you're right, it's not." 

Dean comes up behind him, placing a soft lingering kiss on the nape of his neck, sliding the shirt off of him, fingers gliding down the skin with intent. He sucks and kisses the skin of his shoulders leaving a red mark, and a trail of saliva across his shoulder blades. He's awfully proud of himself. Cas' belt follows, then his jeans. It's always such a rush when he gets Cas in such a state of undress.

"Wait, leave the hat on," Dean let's out, eyes ablaze when Cas is about to throw it on the floor. 

"Should've known," Cas says rolling his eyes, but even though he tries he can't hide the small smile appearing on his lips.

And he's perfect the way he is, almost naked right in front of Dean, blue eyes burning, roaming his body with the same want Dean knows mirrors his own.

Dean pushes him down on the bed, and he's so hard in jeans now he pops the button open, putting on a show for Cas as he slides the zipper down. Cas is sprawled on the bed with nothing but his boxers and hat on. Dean crawls on top of him like a wild animal ready to devour his prey, grin big and delighted. He drops down, sinking into the exposed skin of his belly, traveling down, down, stoping at the elastic of his boxers, he can hear Cas whine in that way he loves, and he mouths at his cock through the fabric, feeling Cas getting hard. A wet spot appearing on the red fabric.

"Shit, Cas." 

"Agreed."

He pulls the boxers down, taking his time to kiss up Cas' thigh, going all the way to his cock, hard and curving up, Dean licks the head tentatively, grins when he hears the wrecked, "Dean," above him. And he swallows him down wanting to get Cas' in his mouth, tasting the pre-cum already leaking. The tangy-salty taste rolling on his tongue. 

"Dean," Cas whines, squirming and writhing, Dean places a hand on his abdomen, keeping him in place, loving every minute of Cas under him. Helpless like only he can make him. He pops off, licking the roof of his mouth, smiling down at Cas. "Wait," he tells him, before he leaves the bed momentarily, picking up his jeans from the floor, producing a packet of lube and condoms. Cas is pressing a finger against the tip of his dick, hand wrapped around it when he gets back to the bed. 

"I'm back," he says, resuming his previous position.

"Then do something already," Cas says and Dean laughs, low and deep. 

"I will," he promises, grinning agains the warm skin of Cas' stomach, guiding Cas's arms up beside his head.

He coats his fingers with lube, almost chocking when Cas spreads his legs, so willing to let Dean do whatever he wants with him. Trusting him. He stills, but Cas' gaze is burning him beneath the cowboy hat, and he presses one finger against his hole, circling it, before he slips the finger inside. He feels Cas tighten, and he gives him time to adjust until Cas urges him to just go on. Before he realizes he's three fingers deep in, Cas is breathing hard, mouth open in an "o" shape. 

"You okay?" 

Cas nods, arm thrown over his eyes, lower lip red from biting it. He decides Cas is ready, they're ready. Anticipation always makes him eager, nervous in a good way. He pulls Cas closer to him, fitting himself between his parted legs, pressing the tip of his cock against Cas' hole. He feels liquid fire down in his stomach, his muscles pulling and giving in once he presses inside and is all the way in, feeling the tight heat of Cas enveloping him. 

"Cas? Everything okay?" 

"Yes, Dean, yes," Cas answers, words husky. 

Every time he pushes in and out he's stricken by an electric feel, and every time Cas moans and says his name he loses a bit more of his sanity. He settles on a rhythm, hands holding onto Cas' waist, until he grabs his wrist, stoping him mid movement, and switches positions with him. Dean gasps in surprise, he never expected Cas to take the lead or have that force in bed, although he's not going to lie, he's pictured this before. Cas riding him, hips moving sinfully slow, head thrown back, little guttural sounds coming out of his mouth. And Dean thinks _Fuck, yeah, ride it cowboy_ , along with a string of profanities, finally uttering a drawn out, "Fuck." 

And oh, he never imagined Cas could smirk like that, hat tipped like he's saluting him from above, and Dean licks his lips, Cas is the best cowboy in the entire history of Cowboys he surmises. He watches him jerk himself off keeping pace with his thrusts. Dean wants him so much and finally pulls Cas down to kiss him, deep and hard swallowing his taste. He's tethering on the edge, black against his eyelids. Then it's all white, white, white, back arching groaning with his release. 

Cas follows him soon after, his hips coming to a stop, he falls spent on top of Dean's chest, Dean caresses the sweaty skin of his back, closing his eyes, limbs loose. When their haze clears enough to pull away Dean disposes of the condom, cleaning Cas' belly with the edge of the sheets, not really caring about what bigger mess he might make. It's his, Cas', theirs. Finally he takes Cas' hat off, putting it beside their legs on the bed.

"We should do that more often," Dean says, trying to regain a bit of composure, pulling Cas closer to him, skin against skin. Cas nods, against his chest. 

Dean drifts off to sleep with Cas tucked safely against his side.

The convention forgotten.

  
  


::: ::: :::

  
  
Dean spends the rest of the convention marveling at just how fucking good Cas looks in that outfit and then dragging him to a secluded area to do unspeakable things to him.

He wants to thank Arizona and the convention for showing him how well Cas and Cowboys mix. 

Dean's grin is a permanent fixture for the entire weekend. 

Cas has to start wearing a bandana tied around his neck on the second day. Charlie only keeps throwing them knowing glances for their entire stay.  
  


::: ::: :::

  
  
Once they're back in the bunker Sam takes one single look at them, at how close they walk together and how they lean into each other. He smirks and Dean pointedly ignores him before he shoots an obscene gestures towards him.

::: ::: :::

The next time Cas is on top of him, in the comfort of his own bed and room, Dean insists he wears the cowboy hat. Cas readily accepts. 


End file.
